


Days of Thunder

by Accuni



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Classism, Conditioning, M/M, Orion starts out with a very skewed idea of society beyond his own, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Drama, Slow Updates, Violence, corrupt government, ghostwriter AU, mature elements, pov switching, reforming oneself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-08-22 21:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accuni/pseuds/Accuni
Summary: Orion isn’t a leader, he was never created to be. Not naturally. He cares about his city, but can't seem to engage himself in the council's political matters. For all he does in the government, everything is really beyond his control anyway.An encounter with a mech who has more to say than he should leaves Orion at a crossroads with everything he’s ever known.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO, this is my first (uploaded) fic, specifically in the Transformers fandom, and I've been planning it for a while. Originally, I had planned to write it after another series I want to do because it does serve as a prequel to the other AU buuut I got way more into this world to wait to write the other one first.
> 
> There's a lot going on in this, but it's also very self indulgent so bear with me and don't be afraid to leave criticism. It's basically unbeta'd but I've retouched the first part so many times, so I kicked myself into uploading it finally.

**Part 1**

 

**_Orion Pax_ **

 

Last meeting for the next few cycles.

Last time he had to sit through the dragging speeches, listening to the same prattle he’d heard for the last week. It was easy to tune out much of the information once it was addressed the first time, really.

Once he passed through the doors, and they snapped shut, Orion was down the narrow hallway. He hated this building. Where other mechs seemed perfectly comfortable, it gave him immense claustrophobia to make his way through each corridor. It simply wasn’t built around the idea that a mech of his frame would even need to be here.

But he needed to be here. They always needed him to be here.

 

Orion passed each separate room with haste, trying to pay as little attention to his surroundings as possible and get out back onto the streets of Iacon before dusk.

He spotted the rusty exit door, having to manually push it as always. This building was such a dump, he was surprised they didn’t talk about tearing it down, seeing as the mechs here were so uppity about their environment. The rest of the city certainly reflected the picture of misdirected affluence.

He didn’t hate his city, it was just that the focus of the council not being directed toward more beneficial areas of interest really didn’t sit well with him. Orion always felt extremely guilty having those kind of thoughts.

At least anywhere out in the open city, Orion didn’t feel as though something awful was going to crawl under his plating like in that building.

 

Out on the streets, Orion took in a vent of fresh atmosphere and immediately transformed when he neared the curb. He rumbled his engine for a moment, not too loudly, and sped off in an anxious* haste.

 

* * *

 

 

It really wasn’t a good day.

 

While he began driving, all the stress and anxiety hit at once, almost causing Orion to skid too far off the side of the roadway, lucky that no other mechs were around.

He carefully veered back on the right way and released a heavy vent out of the slats on his dorsal plating. For a large mech, Orion felt the already big weight upon his shoulders grow even heavier.

 

They wanted him as a figure.

The meeting at the directorate last cycle had the head member unexpectedly revealing that Orion was to be the new public face for them, as well as the council.

_They'd said it so nonchalantly..._

 

Orion had stood there and listened to their explanation, but none of the information embedded itself in his processor. After the initial announcement, his mental workings had completely stalled, and it felt like he almost glitched. It was so unexpected.

But as usual, he rolled with whatever the directorate members were saying, nodding his head and offering no input, just the way they preferred.

 

Now that all of the information had defragged, it had Orion reeling.

There was no way they had even given enough thought to choose a mech like him. He had only been at the directorate just yesterday, for a fairly normal meeting to discuss affairs like always, and the board members had given no hint towards this decision at all- or even the topic itself for that matter.

Orion always assumed that the board on it’s own was the face for the public. The council were the ones who needed a singular figure for citizens to latch on to, not an office whose purpose is just another step for laws before the council.

His immediate panic caused him to wonder why in the universe that they’d need someone, especially someone himself, who had never offered input, nor has shown any heightened interest in their ideas. He was simply a higher-class worker-turned-member of their public communications board. The only reason he got there was because his previous job had been relegated to another program.

Orion also didn’t even think to question why the directorate just now had started to need a public figure for themselves.

His processor swam with every panicked idea of what this could possibly entail for his job in the future. The board had mentioned relaying their and the council’s plans for Iacon’s various aspects of the society to the inhabitants, saying that a single figure talking directly to the public would be more effective than the ideas coming from a board behind doors and to be immediately being voted on in the council.

But Orion felt as though it was already working well enough, that there wasn’t a need for it. He appreciated the one-on-one idea of someone of power speaking to the public, but that was just it, wasn’t it? He _wasn’t_ someone of power. He would just be a face, a completely rigid standee for the directorate and the council. It wasn’t like Orion could imagine himself actually getting into any of their campaigns. It was going to be a lie to the public, and he thought it should be the head of the council doing it themselves, not a polished-up postermech who didn’t even have a say in their decisions.

 

Orion caught himself thinking, that for what the directorate was keeping him around for anyway was beyond him at this point.

 

* * *

 

 

The name on the flickering neon sign of the rundown building was obscured by the increasingly heavy rain, in a dialect much different from that of Iacon.

The building itself looked unsteady, only being supported by a larger one behind it. Parts of the exterior were rusty beyond repair, and looking at the jagged edges of scrap metal and reinforced walls made Orion shiver. The rain dripped off a hastily-fastened slab of metal that served as the overhang for the entrance. It didn’t seem welcoming to customers at all.

Orion realized he had been standing off the side of the curb for minutes now. With a last hurried look around the area, he flared his plating to shake off any excess moisture, and walked toward the dimly lit entrance to the bar.

* * *

 

 

He glanced around the small bar with a cautious optic. Every now and then, he would catch the eye of the wary bartender and give him a courteous nod, which didn’t seem to affect his outward attitude toward a flashy-looking stranger any bit. But, business was still business, especially in this part of the Under City.

As he sat with his elbows placed up on the edge of the bar in a way that he hoped seemed casual, Orion allowed himself a swig of his drink, trying to straighten out his mind now that he had some fuel.

 

Orion really didn’t know how he’d ended up here.

He had been driving and driving until the ground felt different under his wheels, and the undercurrent of the air changed. His tanks had then notified him of approaching empty when all of his anxious energy had mostly faded. Orion assumed his processor had seeked the first fuel house and walked in, only coming to his senses when he felt a handful of uneasy fields around him as he took a seat at the bar and ordered something at random with his dumbfounded expression.

The bartender hadn’t questioned him, just steeled his expression, stated the amount of credits for the fuel and turned his back with a swift mechanical hiss.

 

Now gingerly sipping at his cube of energon- a lower grade than he was used to drinking- Orion dared a brief look around the bar. Like the exterior, it was pretty cramped and worn down; the walls patched and re-patched with fortified metal in certain places, a few of the tables clearly dented from roughhousing. The crowd tonight was pretty average, made up mostly of the heavy-laboring mechs in the Under City, huddled in booths with their comrades for a quick fuel after their shifts. A few thinner-plated merchant bots took up the stools, keeping to themselves.

Orion made sure not to look too interested in the other mechs around- he wouldn’t know what to do if he’d accidentally made optic contact with someone. He’d heard about the kind of mechs in the Under City that wouldn’t think twice about throwing down to take a swing at a stranger they didn’t like. He’d rarely ever heard of that happening in Iacon, usually just friendly brawls. Or conflicts were solved diplomatically, behind closed doors. Never disturbing the general peace.

 

Dismissing those thoughts, he finished his casual scan around the bar, taking another drink of the fuel. Orion made a note to also glance at the general chronometer high up on the wall, as to not seem too suspicious. Actually looking at the time, he realized it was already getting late in the cycle, and Orion’s anxiety started to swell again; an awful feeling that seemed to grow under his plating and scratch at his protoform.

 

As he moved his optics away from the clock, Orion’s line of sight tracked down the wall to a small group of mechs at a rickety-looking booth. Three of them were engaged in a raucous conversation, while one had his attention elsewhere. Orion hid his unmasked face behind his cube as he drained it, curiously focusing his optics on the lone mech. Surely whatever the others were discussing was entertaining or interesting, but Orion felt as if his processor was trained to study their quiet friend who seemed completely unbothered by his friends.

The mech had his attention on a battered-looking data pad and stylus, clenched tight in his hands as to not be jostled by his rowdy comrades. Orion observed him raise his helm to the far wall, clearly thinking, and then quickly returning his thought to the data pad, and scrawling something down.

Orion was instantly transfixed on this odd sight. He wouldn’t ever think to see a labor-mech so intently _writing_. Uncertain as to why it would be strange, though. He wasn’t sure what else they did in their free time, but he sure didn’t encounter most mechs that liked to write as a hobby. Usually you were paid to write, whether it be for government documents or novelists, and no one wanted to willingly compose something of no use. What you did was either serviceable, or a complete indulgence; there really wasn’t a grey area for most mechs. And writing was not an indulgence.

That’s what gave Orion anxiety about his own situation. He’d never written for himself or for others. He felt stunted when a data pad was thrust in front of him and he was ordered to start. Orion lived procedurally- off others prompting him and what he produced. He was never meant to be so distinctive in his output.

Too lost in thought, Orion hadn’t realized he looked like he was staring too much before he also noticed he was still holding his cube up to his face. Orion quickly turned his chassis back to facing the bar, sliding the cube to the end for the bartender to take.

 

The mech with the datapad… Orion found himself uncharacteristically curious over what is was he could have been writing so intensely. There was something about the other, having the ability to be in his own mind while surrounded by eager friends. Orion felt himself admiring the self-dedication of a mech he didn’t even know. He thought he wished he could be like that, but a stronger urge had Orion curbing those feelings. Focus on his work was more important. Helping his city was his top priority. He immediately felt foolish for letting his emotions just wander. Maybe the energon was a higher-grade than he thought.

While his processor was working over itself again, Orion didn’t notice his hand had stumbled the cube right over the edge of the bar, the glassware flying toward the bartender and hitting the ground with the harsh sound of breaking glass. The sound rang through the small area and Orion felt his spark stall in embarrassment.

The bartender looked up from where he was chatting with a patron, glancing down to the broken cube and back up at Orion, optics squinting. Orion noticed the other mech’s plating had tightened in an instinctive defensive-startled stance. He was about to open his mouth to say he’d offer to pay for the broken cube when a loud shuffling and hurried voices came from another corner of the bar.

 

“- no! No, I’m tired of it. What the hell he is doing here?!” came the booming voice of a large labor-mech that had got up from one of the booths on the other side of the pub. The additional voices had been his comrades trying to talk him down from causing a scene. Other patrons in the bar had stopped to stare at either Orion or the loud mech that was clumsily approaching him. Orion’s audials twitched as he subconsciously tuned in to the gathering whispered voices across the room, his paranoia growing by the second.

 

_What is he doing here?_

_I didn’t even_ _notice the Upper City mech._

_They just let him walk in here?_

_Are they trying to take over Kaon now, too?_

_The paint job on that red and blue fragger makes me want to punch his faceplates in._

_Why does he think he-_

_Look at him-_

_He must be glitched-_

_He looks-_

_He-_

 

Orion’s venting increased rapidly, spark spinning madly. He was finding it hard to tune out the comments of each whispering patron. He shouldn’t have come here. He didn’t know what state of processor he had when he’d just walked in.

While Orion was internally panicking, the angry mech had nearly made it across the floor of the bar, a large finger pointed right at him. The mech’s friends had given up their futile attempt to quell the other’s rage, hanging their heads and trying to ignore the rising conflict.

The mech stopped when he was a servo’s length away from Orion, stamping a heavy foot with a loud clang. Orion felt his back struts tighten and his shoulders curl in defensively. He was really going to have a panic attack and get his plating beat in.

 

“You-!” the mech started, shaking an unsteady finger at Orion’s face again. Orion let his battle mask slip shut quickly.

“I-I’m-” His vocalizer stalled, not knowing what to say.

“Fraggin’ high society mechs...coming down here and treating the place however they want!” the mech’s visor flashed rapidly as he shouting toward Orion. He was clearly not sober, his accusing hand was unsteady as he tried to focus on the offending mech.

 

Orion felt his own field clamp tightly in humiliation. He was so unused to drawing attention to himself, especially in settings where he felt drastically out of place. He didn’t want to be here.

The large mech advanced on Orion, crowding him so his lower back was against the edge of the bar. Orion instinctively drew his hands up from his sides. The motion caused the inebriated mech to flinch, his visor flashing brightly in alarm.

Before he could make another move, the mech surged, growling, and had Orion gripped by his collar plating with a fist at the ready. Orion thought himself as a heavy build, but the labor-mech had no problem hauling his weight with one arm. The small difference made Orion feel completely miniscule in this situation.

It was moments like this where a mech realized his fighting skills weren’t up to par, either. Hell, Orion knew he had no experience in hand-to-hand combat, much less a dirty bar fight. His venting kept stuttering, the humidity of it making his always-comforting mask feel suffocating. It took all his will not to visibly show how much he was panicking.

“Think you can pull one on me? You’re not as experienced in the world as you think, city mech.” the bot snarled at Orion’s face, some spit hitting his mask as his offender grated out the last few words with an acidic tone.

 

Orion gripped at the arm holding him up by his plating, his feet trying to get a purchase on the floor of the bar.

He got out a breathless, “I think this is a misunderstanding, I-”

“Oho, are you gonna be _sorry_? You gonna take care of it?” the metal of mech’s brow creased further into a scowl as he violently slammed Orion down on the bar. Orion felt his helm make contact with a loud crack, and his optics were jostled in his head.

“You think you can walk in, treat the place how you like, and then _say_ you’ll take care of it?! I didn’t _see_ you rushin’ to do anything!” the large mech’s grip on Orion’s plating tightened and he winced as he felt a dent forming.

“I bet yer from Iacon, ain’t ya mech?” he said with a scowling grin. “Mechs from that glitched city think they can be taken care of all the time! And who does all the work after them? Us, of course. None gonna compensate, no thanks from any of the filthy fraggers up there!”

 

Orion tried to recalibrate his vision as the mech went on, his body gradually going limp against the bar. He really needed to clear up this confusion but his processor was swimming and the pickup from his audials going haywire.

The mech above him swayed, stopping a moment, breathing heavily. Orion managed to right himself just a bit during the pause.

 

“You ain’t gonna deny it?” the mech growled again, a bit quieter. “You a cop?”

“Ah, no...” Orion almost laughed. Him? A law enforcer? That was almost worse than the fraud of a figurehead they wanted him to be.

“Why ya down here then, in _those colors_ , huh mech?”

Orion was immediately confused. The colors…?

 

This was getting out of hand, he had to leave. He didn’t want to be here.

Orion firmly gripped the arm the mech was using to hold him down to the bar.

 

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble. I just needed to stop for fuel, and-”

“Shut up!” the mech roared. “Ya don’t have enough fuel in the upper city? Ya trying to drain us down here too?!”

Orion didn’t know what he was talking about. He just knew he didn’t want to be here. His panic was slowly turning to irritation. Losing control of a situation was something he always dreaded.

“Hey, I’m not trying to do _anything..._ ” Orion started, raising his voice. He began grabbing and pulling harder at the thick arm pressed against his chassis. Hell, the mech was strong.

 

“Shift, let ‘im go.” the bartender finally interjected, with a surprisingly calm voice.

The labor-mech, _Shift_ , as he was called, tore his attention away from Orion’s face to snarl at the bartender.

“You’ve had enough tonight.” the keep said sternly.

“I’ve had enough of these Upper City mech waltzin’ in here like it’s an adventure! We jus’ wanna take a load off after the shifts _they_ push on us, and we can’t even do that without worryin’ about stepping out of line! Fragging glitched mechs.”

 

Orion glanced to the bartender and then back to the cursing mech holding him. He had to tread carefully. But he also couldn’t sit here and listen to such slander. He _cared_ about Iacon. He knew what went on around the city, nobody wanted to hurt these mechs.

 

He raised up, pushing his chassis against the arm holding him down.

“I’m not here to police you, mech. Iacon doesn’t mean any harm. We’re constantly working on laws to impr-” before he could finish, a heavy fist was colliding sharply with abdominal plating in a fierce punch. Orion’s optics nearly bulged as he curled and coughed behind his mask. The mech above him roared and delivered another punch to his gut.

“Fraggin’ lies!!! Ya hear this mech?! Says Iacon is trying to _help_ us!” turning to the crowd for a moment, he laughed, a bitter and mocking air to it.

The murmuring around the bar grew in an unhappy tone.

Orion’s audials twitched badly. He needed to leave. He felt his plating trying to suffocate him as his panic peaked. It was now or never, and he had to act.

He didn’t want to be here, he had to leave. He had to get back to the city, to his apartment and his berth- where no one tried to hurt him. No one ever tried to hurt him there.

 

Orion knew this mech would beat him until all his plating was in dents, and no one would help him. There wouldn’t even be any records of the assault down in the Under City, he was sure of it.

In a split-second- and later, _stupid_ \- decision, Orion found purchase with his pedes against the railing of the bar, raising his pelvis off the edge. With leverage from the arm not gripping his attacker, Orion used it to push and launch his lower body toward the mech. Pedes out first, he kicked the mech square in the gut. If it hadn’t been by surprise, Orion knew the blow wouldn’t have shaken the other, but he managed to get him to stumble back a bit- an opportunity Orion seized to roughly shove the arm off his chassis. Free of the grip, Orion slumped down off the bar. He already felt exhausted, telling himself it was the low-quality fuel.

 

The large mech took a moment to right himself in his inebriated state, brushing off where Orion’s pedes had connected with his abdominals, barely wincing. He roared and lunged toward the collapsed form of Orion.

Orion shot up and rolled out of the way just in time for the mech’s fists to miss grabbing and subsequently crushing his helm. Around them, the noise of the bar had risen in volume, the riled patrons getting up to stand around the two fighting mech. Well, only one of them was fighting. Orion was trying his best not to get the slag beat out of him.

 

Quickly scanning the room, he noticed the rest of the mechs in the bar looked like they wanted to get a servo on him as well. Even one of the merchant mech was holding his stool- in offense or defense, Orion wasn’t sure.

Orion also wasn’t sure how he felt when he didn’t see the mech with the data pad in the crowd. He wondered: did that mech want a piece of him too?

There wasn’t time to think about anything for too long, the crowd was rapidly growing riotous. The bartender was shouting something at the two heavy-built mech at the door, but Orion couldn’t hear it. The slam to the bar earlier knocked his audial settings way up and the noise was almost deafening to his sensitive antennae, a feeling that shot straight to his already aching processor.

 _Shift_ was advancing on him again. Orion moved as much as he could with the static filling his helm, which was mostly just rolling onto his shoulder again, using his hands to push himself off the floor. Staggering on his pedes, Orion twisted around. There were mechs surrounding him on almost all sides.

To be crass, he felt totally slagged.

 

The large mech dove at Orion, going for a right hook. Orion barely moved out of the way, the edges of the large fist grazing the side of his torso. It was only a bit more than a scrape, but Orion stumbled again. The crowd behind him backed up, but Orion still saw their glowering faces. Their gazes said that no matter if he was guilty or not, he was not welcome here.

Orion steadied himself, bringing his arms up in front of his chassis. He’d have the disadvantage with his currently fragged up processor if he tried to attack the larger mech, so he hung back and waited for an opening. Orion at least had some instinct when it came to fights.

When the large mech came at him this time, Orion watched him closely, his drunken fist coming from the right a bit higher up, but too slow. Orion ducked, and shoved his right shoulder toward the mech’s chest.

A he mentally commended himself for thinking quick, Orion successfully ducked out of the way of another punch. But before he could get one of his own strike in, Orion felt all the air leave his vents, a splitting pain shooting straight through the side of his chassis.

The fake-out worked, and Orion immediately crumpled to the floor of the bar once again.

 

“Ha! Stay down!” the mech barked down at him. A smattering of energon dripped from his rough knuckles. He sniffed, shoving a pede to stamp down on Orion’s outstretched hand.

Orion shouted in pain as the large mech pressed down, twisting his foot.

The uproar of the gathered patrons grew in accordance to the large mech.

He couldn’t see past the ring of the crowd, but the bartender was nowhere in sight. Orion’s vision blurred in his panic, now coursing through his systems. He was really going to get the spark beat out of him tonight.

 

Before he could lay his blue helm down in defeat, Orion felt the weight of Shift’s pede move off his throbbing hand. He tried to move but couldn’t even twitch his fingers without having the pain sear through his circuits.

Orion pushed himself up with his alright arm, trying to see what was going on.

The deep bravado of a voice cut through the commotion of the crowd in Orion’s audials.

 

“Let me take care of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much longer than I planned but I wanted to set up some stuff, apologies. 
> 
> Also, I don't have an update schedule because well, college is happening and this is just something to do my free time. Enjoy :)
> 
> Again, I've never seriously written a fic like this, so comments/criticisms welcome. Or you can yell at me on twitter @baddigital


	2. Part 1, Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while since publishing this and updating- I've been super stuck on the tone for Orion and Megatron's first encounter, and I'm still not pleased with it. (Even got 2 more fics in between updating this ;;). But I have a lot planned for this AU so I bit the bullet and finished it, finally.
> 
> This chapter is kind of lengthy, I wanted a bit of background/exposition from both sides. I'm going to try writing in shorter bursts between other work so I can further the story, because I mean it when I say I have a lot.  
> Also I hope the POV-flipping is alright- it's not every break, but it should be easy to tell.

**_Megatron_ **

 

He’d noticed the out of place mech in the bar, of course he did. Everyone around him did.

A lone Iacon mech wasn’t the precursor to unnecessary violence, however.

Megatron had got up from the now empty booth, stalking to the edge of the crowd that gathered around the two fighting mech. Well, it was really one mech fighting and one defending himself, but Megatron didn’t want to give the Iaconian the benefit of an advantage. Who knew what they were trying to do?

He did feel a small bit of sympathy, though. The outsider was clearly struggling to grasp the aggression flung towards him from Shift.

And Shift… what an _idiot_. He was one of the workers in Megatron’s crew. He never liked being around mech like Shift; those that had good ideas but apparently decided to carry them out in brutish ways. Megatron appreciated using at least a little bit of one’s processor to achieve their goals.

 

Walking up and shouldering past interested mech in the crowd, Megatron managed to get close enough to see how the fight was going. He was no stranger to watching two charged up fools duke it out, and really didn’t bat an eye when Shift had gut-punched the Iaconian. What did get his attention was when the stranger had calculated the next attack and dodged the heavy punch coming at him, using the space to get leverage on Shift. Of course, it didn’t work out when he failed to think too far ahead, and Megatron wasn’t surprised when the city mech had crumpled to the floor again.

Megatron had inwardly sighed. These city mech clearly didn’t get much fighting at all. Why would they? They didn’t have to struggle for anything in their lives.

Watching the red mech now struggling on the floor made him snort. _Ironic_.

Still, this didn't need to carry on any longer. Shift was drunk and Megatron really wasn’t sure how far he was willing to go, in terms of violence. Wanting to avoid any altercation with authorities, he took control.

“ _Let me take care of him.”_

 

* * *

 

“ _Don’t follow me.”_ was what Megatron had grumbled to the patrons around him as he grabbed the city mech up off the floor of the bar after using his more sober stability to push Shift away. The crowd deflated when they realized the fight was quickly over, backed off to respect Megatron’s order. For a quiet mech, he apparently harbored a god amount of esteem from his coworkers. Without turning back, he dragged the stranger out of the bar and into the streets of Kaon.

The rain was coming down heavier now as Megatron exited the bar with the city mech in tow by the collar of his plating, holding on just a bit too tight. Making sure they were a bit away from the building, he carelessly tossed the mech down to the sidewalk near a wide alley. Orion hit the ground with a metal clang and a quick scrape of metal as his back struck the wall adjacent.

Megatron stood with his pedes braced and a hand on his hip, glowering down, with his red optic-shine cutting through the rain.

He didn’t think this mech was of much authority- he barely held himself in a bar fight- but he still had to chose his words wisely. He was resolute and he wouldn’t stoop to being a mindless bully like some mechs.

Megatron took a step toward the mech against the wall, keeping his stare hard.

“Well, what brings a nice mech like you down here?” he says, the words dripping with scorn.

Orion seemed to take a moment to reorient himself, and then sidled up the wall to a near standing position.

“N-nothing”

“ _Nothing?_ ” Megatron scoffed. “Then how about this: _who_?”

The mech paused, and shook his helm. He had not looked Megatron in the optics yet.

“No one.”

Megatron crossed his thick arms over his chest, titling his helm back. Nearly rolling his optics, too.

“You want me to believe you came down to this derelict city just for fun?”

Orion looked out to the street, about to open his mouth to answer when Megatron cut him off.

“-Or maybe you were looking for some entertainment, hm?” he asked with a nasty smirk. The other mech’s optics snapped onto his in an appalled look. Megatron snorted. At least this was entertaining. Dealing with troublemakers in the bar seemed to be his job, and it wasn’t always fun.

He felt he wanted to antagonize, let go some aggression. He knew one didn’t always get the chance to be so mouthy at Iaconian mech without instant repercussions. They acted so prudish and uptight, you could offend them with a single sentence. _Weak mechs…_

Maybe it was dangerous doing this, maybe not.

 

Megatron was humoring himself when the other mech spoke and surprised him.

“I don’t know what you all _think_ you know about Iacon and mech in my city, but I’m not here to take advantage of anyone.”

Megatron make a fake thoughtful noise. “And here you were, wasting our resources as if you couldn’t just sit in the comfort of your home and take all you want, hm?”

 

“... _wasting_?” Orion shook his head again. Nothing these mech said made any sense. He had just needed to refuel.

“I was driving through and had to stop for some fuel. Causing all that uh, clearly wasn’t in my plans. I don’t go harassing people on purpose.”

The jab wasn’t unnoticed. Megatron set his jaw and kept his stare.

“And you expect us to believe you were just casually driving through? I hardly find it plausible.”

He didn’t trust the mech one bit. Kaon was all industrial at this point, thus him being stationed here for so long. Megatron and his crew were focused on restructuring all the dilapidated and run-down buildings that were ruined when the city began its rapid decline after. There was no reason someone would be simply _sightseeing._ The city was _dead_.

 

* * *

 

Orion didn’t really have the answer that question. There wasn’t a reason he was out here, he’d just drove to escape himself. He knew it was stupid, he knew it wasn’t a valid explanation to be where he didn’t belong. But he also knew that there was no reason there should be such an uproar about it. He wasn’t _doing_ anything. These mech were so taut with no grounds. Sure, maybe his blunder in the bar was alarming, and he could forgive an inebriated mech for his wild assumptions, but to be interrogated still? He didn’t have time for that.

 

 _Speaking of time…_ Orion took a moment to check his internal chronometer. It was well past the regulated civilian driving times in Iacon. He’d have to sneak back to his apartment on foot. One more thing to add to his mounting anxiety, it seemed.

“Whatever you’re here looking for, you’re in the wrong place.”

Orion brought his attention back to the frame in front of him. He’d moved a few steps closer while Orion had lost himself to thought. Orion focused his dizzy optics for the rain, and could now see the other mech more clearly.

Making sure to scan him subtly, Orion then realized how _big_ he was. Seeing him in the booth among other labor-builds hadn’t given him a good scale but next to his own frame… the other could easily overpower him, and that was a frightening thought.

Orion didn’t recognize the specific build or plating pattern, though; a tarnished slate-grey with bright yellow accents over his helm, chest, and kibble- most likely for his alt mode. Orion assumed his alt-mode was something heavy-duty, noticing the bulky treads on his back and legs. He wasn’t entirely familiar with any mech of that mode. Most of the population in Iacon were lighter flight frames or small grounders. For a primarily diplomatic city, there wasn’t a need for industrial frames as residents.

The mass of the other was something to ogle at, but Orion only found himself getting anxious again. If this mech was anything like his assailantin the bar, he’d have to find a way out, quick. That blow to his helm was still messing with his gyros, and he did not feel confident in his ability to put a dent in this mech’s plating. The other didn’t seem like he was about to spring to action, he was much more outwardly mild-mannered than the others, but Orion was told how mech in the under city would take the advantage to jump someone- that they were good at _deceiving._

 

Orion straightened up against the wall, stabilizing his back struts and rising to try and meet the other mech’s height- metaphorically. He still swamped Orion by about a helm, and Orion fought the urge to shrink back.

“You’re right, I am in the wrong place.”

The other mech’s lip rose in the slightest hint of a sneer from his words having been taken a different way. Megatron told himself he wouldn’t be getting too angry, and yet...

“It would also be wise to watch your tone, mech.”

Orion raised an optic-ridge in question.

Megatron’s face plates tightened in apparent irritation, losing his calm demeanor quickly. He stepped even closer, almost close enough to engage with Orion’s personal electromagnetic fields.

“You might think it’s just a harmless drive through Kaon, but you don’t realize the pressure you put on other mech here with just your presence,” he still held that crimson stare with Orion’s blue optics. The light was reflected in the rain and bounced off the others’ plating in flashes.

“Some of us only know the under city as our lives, and seeing a flashy mech like you… well, let’s just say they get ideas. Like the mech that nearly scrapped you in the bar? He’s not had good experience with those outside his... _rank._ He might have been ready to offline you, given the chance.” he said, and inwardly smirked when he saw the other’s optics iris open in the smallest instance of worry. Nothing wrong with a bit of intimidation- it got the point through.

He continued, 

“Seeing a mech like you with all freedom to drive where he wants, wasting fuel like that...it’s bound to set someone unease. They don’t trust you, and you’d do well to remember that.” Megatron stabbed a finger in the other’s face, his voice growing harsh. He wouldn’t excuse the foolishness of Shift, but he did want to set a point straight.

Orion didn’t stop to think about the exclusion of _we_ in that last part.

“And what grounds do they _really_ have to not trust me?”

“Are you being serious?” Megatron growls.

“I simply don’t understand a justified reason to attack me.”

“And your mechs are any better?”

“I don’t see what you mean”

“Clearly.”

Shoving off of the wall, Orion tried to size himself up to the other. He was a _big_ frame but that wasn’t going to stop Orion from holding his ground. This was all so unnecessary!

“You don’t seem to be giving me the benefit of a doubt, uh-” Orion was looking for a name.

Megatron just seemed to snarl, turning his helm. He glanced out of the alleyway, to the roads slick from the rain. It was coming down now, the pattering on their plating is the only sound in the prolonged silence.

Even if he wasn’t shaken up, Orion could not understand what the other mech was getting at. He’d felt like this whole night had been nothing but a confusing daze. Couldn’t stop his processor from telling itself that this was a _punishment_ for going out of line and leaving the city - leaving his duties, most likely.

Orion wouldn’t say he was running. He’d just needed a break, everything was too much at once, it made his mind feel weak, helpless. And he thinks, it somehow this hasn’t led to any better situations. He felt out of place, and he felt _unsafe_ . Nobody here in the under city dared even ask if he was perhaps lost, or needed help, and it frustrated him. A stranger in Iacon would be helped out, no doubt about it. Everyone worked for the better of the society. _Clearly the mech here didn’t care about much but their own problems_ , he thought.

“Just, _listen-_ ”

Orion is once again startled out of his thoughts when Megatron begins speaking again. He inclines his helm, but keeps his stare hard.

“I’ve seen higher class mech make... _problems_ down here. Sometimes it’s purposeful, and under city mech are too susceptible to provocation. They’re frustrated, they get riled easily. And after they make a scene, they’re never heard from again. It’s happened one too many times for us to _not notice._ ”

Orion’s optics narrowed. His processor couldn’t exactly parse this information. What a ridiculous excuse for a threat…

“I’ve seen it happen countless times. We’re valued for our work, and yet once a higher-up decides they don’t like our attitude? Our failure to follow the rules they set? They _sort us out._  So don’t say you don’t understand why mech here are quick to be wary of you.” Megatron leaned away again, his faceplates creased down into an expression reflective of him recalling such events.

 

“I don’t believe you.”

He understood the last part, of course, it made sense logically. But it only made sense if the rest of it was true. Orion knew a lot of the inner workings for labor, it was always being discussed around him at the Directorate. They’d need regulations and passes to single out working mech, that was a law. Class or job did not affect their rights as Cybertronians. And those regulations were never sent through. While Orion was not directly in charge of what was passed, he witnessed everything coming and going, being head organizer of Iacon’s public communications and linked directly to everything having to do with individual mech in and out of the city.

Hearing this… Orion just couldn’t trust that claim.

Nothing that odious would _ever_ be taken up by mech in charge, it was too much of a liability for their image, and for the image of their province. Orion knew that those of the higher-class, even in Iacon, were terrified of any bad change in their societal image. He could not fathom it happening, it was too far fetched. And trying to wrap his mind around it left an odd itch on his processor.

Iacon was heralded as the city of opportunity; there were no shady ordeals going down. _Perhaps in the under city_ , Orion thought.

And how come this mech wasn’t watching himself around Orion? He’d stated it himself that he didn’t trust the Iaconian at all.

“-why are you telling me all of this? Do I not belong to the category of mech you’re describing?” Orion asks, leaning in.

“I’m saying it because I can tell you clearly don’t understand what goes on around you!” Megatron snapped. “Because you obviously don’t harbor the authority to do anything about us! If you did, I’m sure Shift would be dead now, and half the bar arrested. You _don’t believe me_? Do things not click in your processor? I’m not trying to save your aft, I’m telling you how _they_ feel!” Megatron is venting heavily, angrily. His hot exhalation close to Orion’s mask, a mist in the downpour.

 

“You talk about all this...unequivocal treatment, but you don’t include yourself. It’s unhealthy to think yourself as higher than your own comrades, especially airing grievances like this.” Orion says with a stern face. Working your way up among your colleagues, was not done by putting yourself above them.

Megatron’s faceplates creased ever more in frustration, and with a heavy mechanical shift, he’s easily crowding Orion to the wall.

And with a near-subvocal growl, “Don’t talk like you know _anything_ about me.”

Orion isn’t fazed. “Then maybe don’t assume I’m without direction!”

“ _Assume_? Ha! You don’t know a bit of what goes on outside your own city, you come here expecting not to be treated differently, and you’re telling a mech like myself not to _assume_?”

Megatron is stepping away from Orion, leaving the space cold, and faces toward the road.

“You need to get your priorities straight, mech, and you need to _leave._ ”

 

Orion’s wanted to yell, to scream more at this _conceited, hypocritical mech._ He’d done nothing but rile up Orion’s processor, irritation heavy on top of the sickening jostle it had earlier.

He wanted nothing more than to leave, back to _the comfort of his home,_  as the mech had put it. Something in Orion wanted to fight, wanted to put this mech in his place, too, but his fear quashed that urge- told him it was now time to run, his aggressor was probably _angry_.

 

With little ceremony, and avoiding all optic-contact, Orion stepped out on to the main road.

As he transformed, he saw the labor mech still standing on the curb, his eternally hard stare fixed on the vehicle in front of him, perhaps in disgust. Orion took only a second to warm his shaken engines, but it was more than enough for one last retort.

“You’d be smart to watch where you tread from here on, mech.”

And Orion wasn’t sure if that was meant as a threat or not.

 

* * *

 

As soon as his wheels leave the curb, Orion is gone, engine sounding an awful mix of _angry_ and _anxious_.

He doesn’t look back but once as he speeds down the abandoned road. The mech as already gone, the rain obscuring his focal points.

And Orion doesn’t think at all while he makes his way out of that derelict city. The night has felt like one big lucid dream, and all he can look forward to is some recharge.

Orion’s processor was blank, and yet it felt like there was something needling it’s way to his consciousness. That imagined itching feeling gnawed at him again as he sped faster down the abandoned roads, hoping he’d know his way back to lower Iacon. He tried not to let his uneasiness cloud his processing again, though he didn’t feel much different than the awful fog he’d been in earlier this cycle.

 

Iacon was all but dark and not a mech to be seen, aside from the security drones scattered around at their posts. Orion’s apartment area was more secluded than the housing other mechs in the Directorate or Council took. He’d found he didn’t require much for himself, and wasn’t one to host guests very often. Orion wouldn’t call himself introverted, certainly not with his career, but he felt that not many others shared his interests or type of company.

Outside of work, he found the only other thing he did with his free time besides recharge and the occasional trip through the city, was maybe watch old holovids, which was a hobby he never indulged in until moving to this part of the city. His old teacher used to pilfer them from the Council libraries and they’d talk over the videos after late work shifts.

_“They won’t miss ‘em.” Kup would say as he thumbed through the data files. “Easy entertainment for an old mech, eh?”_

Orion found he liked watching the historical ones- those that showed Cybertron’s rich history and succession of their society to how it grew today. Kup chose the ones focused on accounts of all the wars scattered through history.

 

He’d been required to work under a senior member before he was approved a higher position as he first started working with the Iacon lower Province Council, and over time Orion really grew to admire his teacher. Orion didn’t know nearly any other mechs in this area, having been hastily moved from upper Iacon for the position- by will of the Iacon Directorate- and he was quick to find a solid companionship with his mentor outside of work.

 

_“Well, I’m surprised ya find me interestin’ enough to be around, kid.” Kup had laughed when Orion expressed that he was grateful for his teacher giving him the time of day outside of being his student._

_“But honestly,” he’d pointed a finger at Orion, “ya gotta give some of the mech here a chance. A lot of em seem hard up their own tailpipe, but there’s a lot of good sparks. It’d do ya good to find some your own age. Old bolts like me won’t be around forever.” Kup said with no air of sadness whatsoever._

_Orion had smiled, not thinking about the implications of what Kup meant._

_“I know, I know… but who else is gonna smack me on the helm for messing up hard copies of reports because I was too worried about the inflection of my data input?”_

_Kup looked at him then, shaking his head, and started chuckling._

_“Ya really are a special one, Orion.” he grinned. “Maybe I will have to keep an optic on ya for the rest of your functioning.”_

 

Orion thought about Kup as he neared the section of city where he lived. Watching old holovids with a few cubes of energon was a warmer time he liked to look back on, way before he had so much more work and responsibility. Now he only went back to an empty apartment with no comms, no one checking up on him. Not that he felt he required it, but Orion liked when mechs were more open with him, more companionable. He would have called Kup to confide in him about his experience tonight, he’d be comforted through his distress. He probably would have invited Orion over for some high grade and to talk it out over one of the card games they used to play.

Now his world only seemed to change as he moved further up in his career. It seemed like no one was prone to being any ounce of amicable. Orion hadn’t had as much friendly encounters anymore. Everything was clinical, and he wasn’t sure when it had changed so drastically. Sometimes it made Orion sad in ways he couldn’t parse.

 

The solitude did have its benefits, as the business of the city was only tolerable so long.

Though solitude now was deafening to Orion. He _wanted_ something, anything, to fill his processor and make him forget about his experience in the under city. Orion had never felt so anxious, so keyed up, in his entire life and coming down from that kind of heightened state alone was torture; he was not used to interacting with mechs that way, and he found now that maybe he’d prefer the clinical way his coworkers moved about social interaction. At least he wouldn’t be confronted over problems he had nothing to do with.

A nice, good defrag cycle would surely help. Although as Orion checked his internal chronometer, he realized with dread that it was, in fact, very late into the night, and he was expected at the Directorate first thing in the morning for more briefing on his new position.

 

Pulling around the corner to the entrance of his complex, Orion transformed to walk the rest of the way. It wasn’t raining in Iacon, so the clear night offered some form of soothing on his near-fried nerves. Processor still spinning, and parts of his frame entirely aching, Orion was sure he’d look a mess to any mech he met. He just prayed no one would ask questions, because he absolutely would not have an answer.

 

“ _[zzt] State the purpose of violated citizen-regulated night cycle hours.”_

The shrill voice shocked Orion out of his thoughts, he hadn’t realized he’d walked into the lobby of the complex already.

The night security was a small black and yellow mechanimal drone Orion didn’t recognize. It looked like it had flight capability by the shape of its angular wings. Not that the guards were ever consistent, though it surprised him to see a mech of this form around Iacon.

“ _[zzt] State the purpose of violated citizen-regulated night cycle hours.”_ it repeated in a harsher tone. The binary buzz of its voice was not pleasant to Orion’s dizzied helm. He rubbed at the side of a ringing audial and tried to focus his tired optics, wondering if lying to the drone was acceptable.

“Went for a drive outside the city,” it wasn’t entirely a lie. “You can scan me for any unlawful possession or intentions, I’m just trying to recharge.” Was it even appropriate to answer the drone like this? Orion wasn’t sure if it was remotely controlled.

The small mech turned and angled it sharp helm toward Orion, beady eyes moving about the corners of his frame. He could tell it _was_ scanning.

“ _[zzt] Nothing disorderly detected on frame. [zzt] Violation of regulated night cycle hours still in effect.”_

Orion sighed. He’d not done this before without permission, so he really wasn’t sure the severity to which he’d be punished. Surely one time wouldn’t be an extremely punishable offence. Surely the directorate wouldn’t revoke privileges for a one-time violation.

He stood there in the lobby under the scrutiny of a small drone, and yet it still wasn’t the height of his stress. Orion’s anxious processor kept looping back on his last meeting. And how he’d have to face them again tomorrow, but with solid answers. They didn’t seem to be giving Orion a choice, but he wasn’t sure if he could turn them down if they had. It _would_ be a better job, no doubt. Maybe he’d feel like he was making a difference for once, maybe mech would _want to know_ him for once-

“ _[zzt] Orion Pax, proceed to designated residence.”_ the drone suddenly squawked.

“What?”

It still had it’s penetrating little yellow optics fixed on Orion’s frame, flitting from his helm to his hands, and up to his chassis. It’s body was completely still as it’s head twitched back and forth to take in data.

“ _[zzt] Orion Pax, proceed to designated residence.”_

Orion’s plating relaxed a fraction. Though he kept his suspicion, he decided to take this as a small blessing after everything tonight.

“Thank you.” He mumbled as he began moving for the lifts. The drone didn’t say anything else, just followed Orion’s movements with its head as he walked past the lobby desk.

 

* * *

 

Lying in the berth was not as relaxing as Orion thought. His frame felt like it was buzzing with energy while simultaneously felt like he was at least ten tons heavier. The seams of his chassis ached as Orion vented, staring at the blank wall of his apartment.

Ad he tried for recharge, Orion felt his processor continually wandering. The recent data files running over and over themselves in his mind, and the playback making him dizzy.

Orion had never felt as unwanted as he had tonight, in the under city. So many mech were ready to take a chance at thrashing him if given the chance, and he’d only been a mere outsider. Not being approached by his peers wasn’t the same, a small worry in the back of his mind always, but this was completely different. These were _strangers_ that hated him unconditionally.

And the mech with the data pad… he’d listened to his reasoning. Orion could make sense of his story, but he couldn’t find a real basis for such unreserved disdain. He wasn’t _scared_ , but he was certain that he wouldn’t want to interact with any mech like that for a long time.

Everything he said, it just seemed _wrong._  He acted haughty but seemed to constantly contradict himself- that kind of attitude bothered Orion to no end, and yet… and yet Orion felt like he wanted to discuss more. The academic side of his processor demanded he try and understand the under city mech.

But he’d never go back. It was too dangerous. Pit, he didn’t even know if the Directorate knew he left- aside from the broken curfew. They’d be against it for sure.

 _The Directorate…_ Orion’s processor once again looped back to his responsibilities. It was a never-ending cycle of anxiety and dread and it wouldn’t _leave._

 

As he tried to sort his thoughts... feelings...positions, Orion’s processor eventually wore itself out. He couldn’t organize enough of his thoughts and data with the energy he had left, he was too overtaxed on information for one cycle and it ended up grating on his mind, exhausting. Eventually, his frame permitted itself into a meager forced recharge.

 

* * *

 

Kaon was a city of crumbling architecture and deserted expectations.

Megatron saw all this, was surrounded by it every cycle.

But he also saw the potential opportunities. The area was rich in natural resources and sound structures, it just needed proper attention. He saw the opportunities in places where other cities wouldn’t give their attention.

Like Iacon; one of the most powerful provinces in this part of Cybertron, focused their affluence on outstripping other cities, rather than preserving them and the mech that lived there. Every Province had its distinct style and function, and all they cared about was extending the reach of their order, imposing their laws.

Megatron kept up with the shifting ties of cities’ businesses through tabloids available on the data net. He could tell that Kalis was Iacon’s current focus- the smaller city struggling to keep up in the wake of the new Council. It was only to be assumed that they were restructuring Kaon for the same purpose. Megatron and his working crew weren’t hired by Iacon, but it wouldn’t be surprising if someone up there in the Council had their needling servos lodged in the decisions that were made.

 

Iacon was not the shining city that every mech perceived it to be. Megatron wished others would realize that. The brightness of it took the attention away from the shadows. And the shadows were especially dark.

 _There’s no such thing as absolutely zero corruption in a society that large and prosperous_ he’d always try to tell his friends.

Impactor never listened to his grievances, telling him to live in the moment because “ _Of course government is fragged up, Megs. How else do you think weak, glitched-up mech make their way to the top? Not by being holy pacifists!”_

_“But wouldn’t you want to do something about it?” he’d replied. “We live and die by their hands, we let them decide our functioning every day. Don’t you want to escape that cycle?”_

_Impactor had looked at him with a bit of tiredness in his optics, probably more towards Megatron’s worrying than the problems he was voicing._

_“We all do, but what means do we have to fight that?”_

 

His friend’s question would repeat over and over in Megatron’s processor while he worked. And working left him a lot of time to think, and think and think.

He didn’t consider himself a dull mech by any means, but wracking his mind for an answer- _what means do_ we _have to fight that?_ \- always ended up making him feel utterly useless. Megatron knew they couldn’t act out, not if they valued their functioning. If he wrote anything to present to a mech in authority, he knew that it would be turned down in an instant as well. Megatron had thought of countless ways to improve the sincerity of their government- that awful Council with no distinct leader. A vicious conglomerate of rapacious ideas.

The respective boundaries of cities could be worked on next, and then the entitlements of working or lower-class mech, and so on. It was a process he seemed to be attuned to finding ways in order to advance the impartiality that their society seemed to be blind to.

And he did not have the medium to do anything about it.

 

* * *

 

They boarded the shuttle the next cycle, heading to their next designated location for the project his team was currently on.

Megatron had already begun thinking about the problems their immediate world faced. How so many mech were just... _imperceptive_ to how it all fell into place, all these injustices. All these cracks in their perfect world that would eventually lead to a _chasm._

It bothered him every cycle.

 

He found himself thinking about the Iaconian mech in the bar- the perfect case of being blind to the very system he worked for. He saw no problem with what their city was doing, downright refuting Megatron’s qualms, _insulting_ him.

The poor mech was so lost, didn’t even know what he was doing. Megatron always felt the urge to stop mech like that before they became fully a part of the system. There was so much potential for those, if only they’d think for themselves, think outside the scope of their city for once!

 

He did not let himself feel pity, like he had the urge to every time. Those thoughts were being trained out of his processor, because Megatron knew it was dangerous to give anyone the benefit of a doubt.

He also knew he’d overstepped the bounds of ‘wanting to help and inform’ and outright intimidating, and Megatron was only a bit frustrated at himself for it. He didn’t feel like he was any closer to furthering his own ideals when he acted out of rage, but it was a faulty reaction he’s never been able to get rid of.

 

Still, the look in those blue optics said complete innocence. Just a mech trying to make his way in the world.

 _And wasn’t that just the irony of it?_ Megatron thought. _Only being successful through underhanded trust?_ The thought of just how many mech had possibly succumbed to that very concept, the wasted sparks on the target end of awfully cogent cities’ schemes. It disgusted him down to his spark. Megatron just...he wanted to shake that mech, tell him to _wake up_ , just as he wanted to do with whole districts and entire cities.

 

_What means do we have to fight that?_

 

* * *

 

This shuttle trip was longer than usual- this time they were being transported from the headquarters placed in Kaon, to a different area on the outskirts of some other illustrious metropolis. Sometimes they weren’t even told the exact location, just _build this, restore that._ As if they were actually _restoring_ anything.

 

Megatron was tapping away on his data pad, another rush of ideas plaguing his processor that he needed to get out before they landed. This file was shaping up to harbor the theme of … _“restructured minds”_ Megatron wrote at the top.

As he was getting into the section comparing taking broken cities and reformatting them to oblivious individuals, a stocky, smaller frame sat down beside him. They didn’t seem to be paying any attention to him, but Megatron slowly powered down his data pad and subspaced it anyway. His most important possession, he was always wary of prying eyes, grabbing servos.

 

Megatron shifted to rest his elbows on his knees, hands folded. The mech beside him angled their blocky head up at him, studying his frame with their large blue optics. Megatron had never seen such a small mech in his crew before. They must have picked up new recruits.

 

“Are you new?”

The mech stared at him for a moment more with that blank face, blinked rapidly, and laughed.

“Am I new?” they mumbled to themselves. “I just joined this force, but I been around probably far longer than your whole functioning, er-”

“Megatron.” he answered... _her._

“Hm, yeah, Megaton…” she fixed him with a thoughtful stare again, seeming to study his face as if it would tell her anything new. Megatron sat there in their shared silence a moment, wondering what this mech’s deal was. He noticed a _meter_ built into her forehelm, the hand ticking back and forth. It seemed to be connected to those large optics in a way.

 

“Hmmm. Ya’re alright.” she simply said, and sat back, crossing her arms.

“Excuse me, little mech?”

The blocky mech laughed again, but it was snide this time, her face contorted in a wry kind of smile.

“Heh, that’s a good one, never heard it before.” and it was all but dripping in the heaviest sarcasm her vocalizer could manage. Megatron might have felt a bit bad if he weren’t completely put off by the strange choice of new addition to his squad.

 

“I said ya’re _alright_! Clean! No ionizing particles, no harmful energy in your spark.”

And when Megatron was still staring at her, she sighed and rubbed her flat helm.

“My job is to measure _radiation_!” she tapped at the meter on her head, and the odd-shaped, silver helm finials attached. “I’ve been trying to scan mech in your crew all cycle - subtly. They look like they could get tetchy…”

 

Ah, a sort of medic type, then. The directors of the projects often paid medics to tag along so it would _seem_ they cared about the workers. And of course it would also reduce the chances of a mech getting hurt, and their employer having to give them sustained leave or something of the sort. Megatron always assumed once mech got hurt during work, they were _repositioned_ , perhaps assigned a less valuable function from then on because of it. Their employers didn’t seem to take kindly to mech messing up their jobs, it would prove they weren’t fit, even if it was a mere chance accident.

 

But they’d never had need for a mech that measured...radiation? Of course, Megatron knew that some of the ghost cities they worked at had various residual energy signatures from either abandoned energon refineries or those city-sized power generators, but it was never too severe that any of them suffered physical effects on their frames from prolonged exposure, the unused energy shorting out as soon as they leveled the sources.

 

Apparently the small mech could see his processor working, and piped up, “Eh, it’s usually not a big deal wherever they hire mech like me. Only a few cases of real problems in the last few hundred years or so. But the directors are adamant on keeping you lot out of stuff like that.” she rubbed the part of her helm that would be a chin, if it were not so square and flat.

“Though I’d wonder why even bother with areas subject to that kind of contamination! It ain’t spreading ‘cross Cybertron, why waste the money to build more if it’s already on unstable ground?”

Megatron crossed his arms, staring off ahead. _Why waste the money, indeed…_

 

“ _Aaanyway,_ you don’t seem like the chatty type. I’m giving my processor a break- that meter is forged in, you know? An’ don’t feel like messing around with any of the heavy-duty frames, but feel free to tell me to frag off any time, yeah?”

Megatron looked back down to her. The mouth on such a petite little mech…

“Oh, no, you’re quite alright.” he rumbled. “At least someone here has more of a personality than a hunk of bulkhead.” But could he blame the other workers? All they knew what their job, they were onlined that way. It wasn’t like most of them had anything interesting to talk about.

 

Nothing new ever came their way, all the shows and literature broadcasted were streamlined from the big cities. _All most likely propaganda…_ Megatron always thought, with no little amount of bitterness.

The little mech chuckled at his remark, scooting back further on the bench so that her small, wheeled pedes didn’t even touch the floor of the shuttle.

“I like you, Megaton. A bit arrogant, but you seem to know your place.”

Megatron almost let a frown grace his face, but decided against it. So she was one of _those_ types...mech had free will to be hired by who they want and they thought they were as good as the directors.

He just huffed, “It’s Megatron. And your designation?”

“Dosi.”

Megatron hummed an assent, leaning back against the shuttle wall as well, nothing more to say, his attitude soured a bit once he realized he couldn’t fully trust her.

That little slip of her character had his fingers itching to write again already. Perhaps expand upon the grey area between systematic working class, employers, and the freelance mech…

As Megatron let his thoughts drift, he almost compulsively brought out his datapad, and quickly thought against it. The small mech seemed very privy to each and every detail of others, and especially knowing her rank now, Megatron was not about to lose the one possession he beared that had the potential to immediately offline him.

Luckily, she didn’t mention anything if she’d seen him writing earlier. Maybe assumed the datapad was for watching the news.

Megatron hoped it stayed that way, hoped he seemed like the obedient labormech he was, _For now,_ he told himself.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwing in a lot of minor characters because I have a lot of fun writing them, too. I'm sure it's easy to figure out who Dosi is from real canon ;)  
> Also the Megaton joke is in bad taste but I was working on physics classwork before this and kept writing Megatron instead, so
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know if there’s any mistakes, I posted this at 4:30 am but I do overlook a lot of the editing on accident.  
> //  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/baddigital)


	3. Part 1, Chapter 3

“- as the latter remarked, we need to be more _clear_ with the public. Citizens grow uneasy when they’re not given all the information. An unease leads to _talking_. Iacon was not built on the premise that it keeps any positions from its people. We serve them, just as they serve us, and our society here is a perfect cycle.”

The head regional council mech was speaking in long, drawn out tones, like it was a public rally rather than a quick briefing. It wasn’t information any mech didn’t already know, but they always felt the need to drive it home.

“And thus, we designed a new position, to aid the connect between us and the people. Direct contact and delivery of news regarding the city will help strengthen that bond and reduce the chance that anyone would have reason to doubt our means. Orion Pax here has agreed to uphold this job-” he gestured his hand in a line down from the podium to the member seating.

At the mention of his name, Orion perked up. His processor easily drifted during meetings, even more so on cycles like this. He was still not up to speed, having had a useless defrag cycle from all the trouble the previous night.

Orion stood as he was addressed, postured respectfully. He bowed his helm.

“Yes, that is correct, sir.”

The mech at the podium grinned.

He was also a large build, looking just as out of place in Iacon as Orion did, except he was actually intimidating.

The council head- Zeta was his designation- traveled from the main city in Polyhex to oversee this particular meeting. He didn’t show often, and Orion assumed this must be important. He’d only seen Zeta a few times since he took this position, and he always felt extremely tense around the imposing figure. Physically, he actually did tower Orion, but his field and his attitude were nothing short of restrained. He was intense in the most shrouded way, and many mech did not dare try to act unprofessional around him- unless you belonged to his inner circle. There was no room for informality around someone like this, and no words but his own.

Zeta was known for keeping a tight grasp on every aspect in Polyhex, but his city was extremely prosperous. High-class. It took a lot for a mech to live there, and clearly for good reason. No bad news ever came out of Polyhex, so it seemed almost utopian to outsiders, and the lesser surrounding cities strived to achieve the balance it had obtained.

Zeta’s blue optics then were like ice staring straight down at Orion as he spoke. “I am told you understand the importance of this position, and it’s lasting effects on the city, as well as your own image, correct?”

“Yes sir.” Orion shifted a little.

“It is your responsibility to relay every piece of relevant information to the public, nothing short of what you are given. This is an experimental position, and we are entrusting the relationship between the council and Iacon and it’s people unto you. The directorate here have chosen you because you are lasting in your loyalty to us and the city. We _know_ you will not disappoint us, Pax.” his tone was every bit demanding as his demeanor. This wasn’t negotiating, this wasn’t offering choices. He was handing him the weight of this duty on a steeled, outstretched servo.

Orion went cold and felt his plating try to clamp. Zeta was endorsing it, and now the weight only seemed to be getting heavier, instead of how it should be giving him more motivation.

He should be happy that such an influential mech from a more substantial city was taking confidence in him. He should be happy that he was moving up in the ranks, that mech would take notice of him with this position. That he would represent such a shining, glorious city like Iacon.

  _You have not started and you’re already failing. What about breaking a law last night? What about fighting in the undercity? Not respectable in the least. How can you do good for your city when you can’t uphold its honor? Are you going to be -lying- to them, putting on a fake face?_

 

When Orion didn’t say anything, Zeta leaned forward, those powerful hands grasping the podium like he controlled the land with it. His optics were narrow, searching.

“You will not make I or this city a disgrace, yes?”

Orion met his stare, but only barely. He was glad for his mask.

“Of course, council member Zeta.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Pax. You will be given your first instructions subsequent to this meeting. Now-” Zeta relaxed a fraction and turned his attention away, the intensity of the moment leaving Orion like whiplash. “I understand we have the public director from Petrex’s council here today…”

As the meeting’s focus quickly turned away to the next set of discussions, Orion sat back down in his seat. He couldn’t exactly listen to the rest of the meeting, his helm felt like it was spinning again.  Zeta’s attention did nothing to diminish any of his worries from before. Orion shakily ex-vented and tried not to look completely shaken.

 

* * *

 

The meeting adjourned after another hour.

  
Like he was programmed, a mech had immediately made his way to Orion in a rush, before the room could even clear. He was holding a new datapad, and as he approached, Orion recognized him as one of Zeta’s security mechs. Though, it really wouldn’t be a surprise that members of his security team also served as sort of secretaries for Zeta as well. Everyone was tied at multiple points to their council- clearly Orion knew this too well.

The mech was speaking hurriedly as soon as he reached hearing distance. “On behalf of the review by your fellow Iaconian council, and approved by Zeta himself, here’s everything you need to know for your first public address.” he was shoving the data pad at Orion’s chest. _He_ _seemed so antsy._

Taking the pad off him, Orion tilted his helm. “Thank you. Are there...are there further instructions and guidelines as to the format of the address?” He felt like they were throwing everything at him, while also giving him nothing. Why was the council so quick to just thrust the responsibility onto him?

“Ah yes, see-” the mech was talking a mile a minute as he took out an identical pad, showing Orion all the same files that would be on his. There were articles and videos, and the nervous little mech just kept going on and on as Orion tried to take mental notes of all the information thrown at him.

After a moment his unfocused gaze shifted behind the mech, and he tried not to flinch when he noticed Zeta still standing at the front of the room. His stare directed right at Orion’s helm. _Watching. Observing. Judging._

Orion quickly returned his attention back to the instructions, making it like he never noticed anything. _Zeta probably thinks you aren’t paying attention. You are not fit for this position._

As the mech finished rattling off the precursory details of the task, he looked up at Orion. “Now, of course the directorate would usually create a separate meeting to brief you more on the details of the address, but it wouldn’t fit in schedule this time. However, everything is covered in the files here, even open comm. lines in the chance you need to contact someone before you finish drafting. Everything must be run through a council member anyway, and-” he stopped suddenly as a dark hand planted itself on his shoulder.

Zeta’s shadow swamped the slight mech.

“Thank you, Red Alert. I believe that is enough. Orion needs time to start preparing.”

“Yes, apologies, sir. I felt the need to relay as much information as possible.”

“Of course.” Zeta squeezed Red Alert’s shoulder, and turned his helm to Orion. Red Alert dropped his helm as the attention turned from him.

“Your first address is of utmost importance, Orion. We need to start off as strong as possible. You should know that by now, your position is all your own responsibility. The council will oversee you, but how you craft your image is dependent upon only yourself and your duty to the city. We know you won’t fail, Orion.”

And somehow that last sentence didn’t seem like encouragement. It was more of a command than anything else.

Orion swallowed, his intakes felt dry. This was so much. And they entrusted it all to him- not a board of members to discuss and write up these messages, not within a mentor- all Orion. And his spark told him that they weren’t selling him short of information because of time constraints, no. _This was the first test_.

 

* * *

 

The shuttle touched down, finally.

Exiting the loading doors, Megatron made to adjust his optics to the light of early-cycle Cybertron. He found it was not so harsh as it usually is, and for a good reason.

The area near the city was built up a bit, but beyond that, it was mostly ruin. Rubble made up most of the horizon, with broken-down towers and abandoned buildings creating peaks among the skyline. The city was completely deserted.

Above it all, the atmosphere was murky- thick and dark, magnetized clouds hung over the city like a field in mourning. The immediate air that hits Megatron’s vents is not naturally fresh, more like the tang of _sterile_ , chemical.

He is immediately panged with an emotion he can’t describe, feeling uneasy, his spark giving a pang of familiar frustration. This was most likely home to many mech once.  

The location was unknown to Megatron, but from the tall structures and neatly lined housing units, he could tell it was probably once prosperous, and beautiful. Whatever happened had to have been tragic.

 _What a shame…_ he sighs to himself, following the rest of the group to the temporary briefing office. Next to him, he sees Dosi following, keeping stride with the wheels on her pedes. She doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, fiddling with her tools and internal readouts.

Megatron coughs and looks down at the small mech. “We’ve never been here before. Do you know the name of this city?”

Dosi doesn’t look up at him, but she pulls up a guideline schematic. Megatron realizes employer must have given her the same ones that they brief the workers with. They trust her with that information, but don’t freely hand it out to them. He’d not noticed that before. _Interesting_.

“Hmm…” her wide optics are scanning the pages rapidly. “Says here it’s called Nova City. Or _was_ , as you can see the sorry state of it now.”

Megatron acknowledges it with an unamused grumble. He’d not heard of Nova City or its destruction, never having popped up in any of the public news feeds they had access to. It increased his uneasy curiosity, it wasn’t possible that something like this had been avoided being talked about. It didn’t seem like the case, but the only thing that set his mind at ease was that perhaps this city wasn’t as important as it looked. But still, it seemed too big for that notion.

The two approached the office, joining the labor mech grouped around. Still by his side, Megatron heard Dosi let out a low whistle and looked down at her again.

“What?”

Dosi was tapping at her forehelm, face screwed up. Megatron noticed the dial flicking back and forth slightly, where it was previously still while in the shuttle.

“Usually it’s no big deal this far out, but I’m getting readings already. _Huh_.” she mumbled and fidgeted with those silver audials, adjusting their height and angles.

After a moment, she stopped and stared out at the debris in the far distance. “Yeah, I’m not malfunctionin’!” she huffed. “Can’t imagine how bad it is deeper into the city.”

“The radiation levels?” Megatron stared, utterly curious.

“Yep.” Dosi crossed her arms over her boxy chest. “I haven’t gotten readings like this on a job in a lo-ong time. Usually they’re minimal, y’know, natural levels. Most mechs have a bit of in their frames, energon charge and whatnot, so I pass it off as nothing. You can’t naturally produce levels higher than a certain point, unless it’s from an external source.”

Megatron thought that over. He hailed himself a pretty smart mech by comparison, but not before this had he heard about radiation levels in frames. Of course, Cybertronian biology was quite complicated, so perhaps it was something lesser known and only by medical professionals, like spark frequency margins or specific internal wiring. Concepts no one had business learning if it didn’t apply to your daily livelihoods.

“So what kind of external source would cause abnormally high levels?” he asked.

“Ah, I dunno- big energon refineries? Any kind of structure that would produce high enough levels of charge that it would put the atoms into a frenzy. So I’m guessing this city had some sort of mechanical malfunction somewhere and the rest was history. They wouldn’t want mech living there.”

“But they’re having _us_ do work within it?” Megatron didn’t like the implications.

Dosi shook her head. “Nah, it’ll only affect you after a long period of time. You work in shifts right? It’ll be totally fine for you lot. Especially with those thick frames.” she looked him up and down and grinned.

Megatron had to fight not to roll his optics. “They’re _strong_ frames.” Dosi just chuckled and turned away. Their briefing was starting.  


 

* * *

 

The next few cycles felt extremely long, but they also went by quicker than Orion wanted them to.

That evening after the meeting, he’d sat at his desk for hours, just staring at the contents of the datapad. There was _so_ much information. The guidelines specified that they only wanted the basics this time around, and that there would be a follow-up address with specific details a while later, but it didn’t lessen the pressure one bit. The only times Orion had ever given any semi-public speeches were his reports to the directorate, and the few times he presented to the council board. To those he worked with, those who knew him. But speaking to all of Iacon?

Orion didn’t pin himself as a cowardly mech, but he _did_ feel apprehensive towards information he knew versus that he did not. No amount of studying the contents of this datapad would ease his stress. He could reach out to his connections within the directorate, talk to those who had more knowledge than him, but it really did seem like they wanted it done as soon as possible and without question.

He fought himself over wondering whether that was pure disdain or their show of confidence. The first option was winning.

Sitting at his meager desk, in his empty apartment, Orion sat hunched over two datapads for the past four cycles. He found he had no idea where to start in the address, so he kept to just copying down the information and keeping it formal. Surely that would be sufficient for what the council needed.

But often Orion found his processor wandering back to Zeta’s frigid stare, piercing him on the spot, and every single one of his insecurities creeped back. Orion took up pacing in the small space of his room; more of an action to release his mind from its fears, rather than deliberate over ideas for the address.

He followed the guidelines to a strict degree, hoping his lack of personal touch would go unnoticed for the time being. There really wasn’t a way he could talk about such a foreign concept as... _The Reestablishment of Public Resource Plants?_ and keep it an engaging address for himself, it was vague enough already.

The address was tomorrow, so Orion just sighed, ignoring the technicalities and settling down to finish out his concluding statement, hoping for the best in the coming cycles.

 

* * *

 

The briefing concluded with the first assignment of squad shifts. Megatron was always one of the first on, due to the fact that the jobs usually first consisted of clearing away heavy debris in order for the construction mechs to do their job. His frame was designed to be fit for tasks from digging, hauling, or pushing matter up to ten times his weight, so he was included in the heavy-duty groups.

Alongside him on the transport out to the work area, Impactor was huffing.

“This is gonna be a hell of a job, Megs. You see all that?”

Megatron nodded, adjusting his helm plating. He couldn’t argue, the site was a _mess_. Whatever happened had to have been disastrous. That mournful feeling tried to work its way back over him; he couldn’t help but feel bad for the mech that probably used to live here- their prosperous and happy lives. All of that ruined by something most likely out of their control. Accidents were one thing, but Megatron always kept his suspicions.

“Bet we’ll be out here all cycle…”

“And why are you complaining for once? I thought you liked heavy duty jobs- says it ‘works out your cables good’.” Megatron smirked. It was always a good idea to keep a light mood around his friend, Impactor could so easily be irritated, too. And from then he’d be just unpleasant to work with.

Impactor leaned back against the railing of the transport. “ _Tch_. I’m not complainin’ I just…” he shrugged as he thought it over a moment. “I’m just tired of the expectations _they_ have of us, ya know? When’s it gonna be too much?”

“Perhaps you’re ready to start looking over my writings.” Megatron laughed.

Impactor punched him in the arm. “Frag off,” he laughed too, though.

Looking back at the horizon of debris, he rubbed his nasal ridge. “Nah, I’m just restless with the same old, same old… ‘Need something new to happen. You know I’m no revolutionary, Megs.”

Megatron looked out across with him. “Ah, I understand that, friend.”

 

* * *

 

The first shift was always the hardest, and the most dangerous. Often when they went in to sites like this, all the structure was extremely unstable, and could probably crush a lesser mech in no time. Frames like Megatron’s would survive, but only as a safety measure, and only for so long before their reinforcing struts gave out under the pressure.

The city’s condition seemed worse and worse as they approached. The buildings weren’t just dilapidated from being abandoned, but the metal had been rend out of shape, _melted_ in some places. Smaller structures looked to be flattened by blasts, all of the supporting walls that were left were charred. It was completely destroyed. Any mech that weren’t involved in this destruction probably had no chance remaining here anyway.

It made Megatron yearn to know _what happened._ It looked like a war zone.

He was currently transformed in a section of rubble with his hauling attachments, contemplating where to direct the first area of clearance, when a small hand planted itself on the plating of his flank, making it jump.

Dosi was _leaning_ on his alt mode.

“Can I help you?” Megatron rumbled. He had already been shifting his processor into a space where he could drown out anything that wasn’t work. A cocky minibot didn’t help.

“I’m looking at these readings-” she was ignoring his question. “-and mech, this place is dripping in fluctuations.”

“And you had just said it was safe to work here.” he pointed out flippantly.

Dosi strolled to his front and leaned over a heavy tread. “Yeah, but my job is also to tell you what you should avoid, too. Where to move what, which structures are the most dangerous.”

That immediately didn’t sit well with Megatron. “And I suppose you want to throw on some equipment and start hauling with the rest of us?”

 _Of course_ they’d hire mech with extra abilities to demean them further. To outshine them. Sure, she was friendly, but there was no way he trusted anything more than their physical safety with this mouthy mech. They were _not_ on the same level.

Dosi snapped a finger in his direction. “Hey! I’m just tellin’ you what you need to do so you don’t, I dunno, end up losing a servo from digging too deep in a reactive pit! I don’t know what’s here, but I know what’s the most contaminated. And I gotta tell ya, Megatron, I’ve only seen readings like this a few times in my job.”

Megatron’s irritation was only abated slightly. He _did_ want to remain safe. He knew being unusable in this fixed occupation meant a pretty dim future, if a future at all. But he was more concerned about lack of information at the moment.

“And in what instance did you see readings comparative to this?” he asked.

Dosi rubbed her helm, thinking. “Hmm. It’s rare and more severe in other cases, but like I said, the amounts seem more concentrated and deliberate in this city. Though I doubt there was an attack here, obviously that would have been all over history.” she pulled up their briefing schematic again. “And they’re being pretty lazy on the details in this… so I’m not even sure what to think. Most likely just a reaction from energon stores though, as each building looks to have been affected. And it’s relatively recent, only a few years ago, seeing as the readings are still this strong.”

Megatron rumbled in thought. He didn’t have the resources to debate that, but something still didn’t sit right with him. He did not trust Dosi, and asking further questions would likely tip her off to him being non-compliant, or too curious.

Dosi had transformed and rolled off to take material samples, and speak to the rest of the mech in the crew, leaving Megatron to his thoughts. He realized he’d never questioned the validity of the job before, or _why_ they were doing it. He knew the cause was just labor, just menial work that no other mech were fit to do. They did what they were assigned and left.

But being in Nova City, he began to wonder if the jobs they were tasked to do actually _meant_ anything, in regards to other plans.

 _Did they want this city cleared for reconstruction and rehabilitation?_ Megatron doubted it. He knew from analyzing how other cities acted in the news that they would not be reaching out in aid unless they were able to profit off of it. And maybe that was just it. Everything in their world revolved around profit and control- an no mech seemed to notice, not even his own class. It frustrated Megatron that the lack of empathy seeded throughout their society was easily shrouded, so much that those affected by it didn’t even notice.

Disorganized thoughts easily pricked at his processor, things that needed time to sort out for an ease of mind. Megatron revved his engine in frustration, and set off for a long shift of hard work. And thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm going to expand on Megatron more. And I promise this will go somewhere eventually :)
> 
> //
> 
>  
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/baddigital)


End file.
